I paused, teeth now clenched in pain and ears ringing
from the gunshot, waiting for the sentence to fully sink in with my
companion. He looked to me nervously.

"Are you sure that you want to tell me?" he said. "It is a secret for a reason, you know,"

I nodded. "It has
to be said. I have kept it a secret for
too long. I have to tell someone, and it
might as well be you."

He shrugged. "If
you are sure I need to know about it, then go ahead."

I started to speak, but was stopped by a pounding on the
rotting, moldy door.

"Open up in there!" came a cry
from beyond the locked door.

"The cops?" he cried out in surprise, panic reaching his
voice. "What are they doing here?"

"Because I told them to come," I said.

He looked at me, his face showing a curious look. "Why would you do a thing like that?"

The door shook again with a blow from beyond. I bowed my head in shame. "Because of what I am about to tell you."

"This secret had better be damn good to warrant us both
getting arrested."

"Oh, it is.
Believe me. Once you know it, you
would hand me over to the police personally."

Another thud on the door.

He leaned forward, eyes locked on me. "Let's hear it then."

I took a breath and told him.

"I killed a man," I blurted, and waited, breath held, for
a response.

It was less than I had hoped. He eyed me thoughtfully.

"And...?" He asked.

"And nothing!" I shouted. "I killed a man! Isn't that enough?"

He shook his head.
"You called the cops on us just to say that? I must have misjudged you."

"How can you be so calm about it?" I asked, almost
screaming. "Don't you care that the
police are on the other side of the door waiting to arrest me?" The door shuddered to the sound of angry shouting
as if to reaffirm my words.

"I care," he said softly.
"But I knew that this would happen sooner or later. You were clumsy."

"What do you mean?" I asked timidly, dreading his
response.

He glared at me sternly.
"Don't you remember? I was there
when you killed him. I gave you the gun
and I told you to pull the trigger. We
have both been in this since the beginning."

I couldn't remember that.
No matter how hard I tried, I just could not recall him or anyone else
ever being there that night.

"No," I said sternly.
"I was alone."

"Nope. I was there.
I was always there by your side- always have been- ever since
school. Remember?"

"I know," I said glumly.
"You have always been my closest friend.
But you were not there that night!"

"Of course I was.
Like always. You've never taken a
piss without me there to help you. Face
it."

I couldn't think right.
His voice sounded so reasonable, like a ray of logic in the chaos around
me, yet I was certain that he had not been there when the trigger had been
pulled. Certain.

And yet...

And yet I had the nagging feeling that I was missing
something important. Something
that I needed to remember. Something just beyond the hands of my memory, in the back of my
mind.

A sharp pain cut across my thoughts and I grabbed my
stomach in response.

"It's getting worse," he said, looking at my hand. "You really should get it looked at."

"I can manage just fine for now," I growled at him
through clenched teeth. "Help me with
this bandage."

Together we wrapped my belly in enough gauze to stop the
bleeding, but we both knew that it was only a temporary solution to a much
bigger problem.

"You can't keep this up," he said.

I sat on the ancient toilet to rest. Standing was too hard. My mind was swimming.

"I know," I replied raspily,
clarity suddenly attained through the pain.
"But every second I do, keeps me away from
you."

He looked hurt and turned away. "Why would you want to stay away from me?" he
asked quietly.

I looked at the back of his head. "Because you told me to
pull the trigger. That night and before.
Every time.
I've had enough."

He turned suddenly and pointed accusingly. "You could have ignored me whenever you
wanted but you didn't! You liked the
gun. You liked the trigger. And you liked the blood. I only did what you wanted."

"What I wanted?!" I spat,
standing suddenly in anger. "You did it
all to keep yourself happy, not me! I
was your tool!"

He smirked a wicked smirk. ""And now the tool is operating itself? Is that it?"

"Yes!" I shouted, readjusting the bandages to stop the
newly spouting blood flow.

"Then open that door and have them arrest me!" he yelled,
pointing to the door. "Let them in and
tell them the truth! That you were
manipulated by me!"

Again the door vibrated on its hinges. Cracks appeared on the door and the
wall. Soon it would be down.

"Who would they believe?" he continued. "Me?
Or the man whose prints are all over the gun? The same man whose blood
is all over the scene!"

He was right, of course.
He was always right. We had often
argued over the years, but he had always won.
He was like that. Maliciously rational.
Violently logical.

I looked to the grubby, brown tiled floor. "What can I do?" I meekly asked.

He sighed. "You've
locked yourself in a bathroom. No
windows and one door. Police
about to break down the door and arrest you. There aren't too many options."

I looked to him with hope. He continued.

"Either turn yourself in and face jail, or kill
yourself."

Neither sounded very good. But I would be damned if I would live the
rest of my life behind bars.

Under the harsh and judging glare of my friend, I picked
up the still warm pistol from where it had fallen and released the safety. The
pounding on the door was louder now. They would be in soon.

"Goodbye," he said, stepping back.

"Goodbye," I replied and pointed the barrel to my
head. Time to finish
what I had started.

I pulled
the trigger and everything around me went silent for a split second. The angry door stopped rattling; the sounds
of the city outside were gone; my friend was gone. The room was perfectly silent.

Suddenly the silence was shattered by a loud click that
resounded all around me. I waited. And waited. Finally, I pulled the gun from my head and
looked at it. The hammer had fallen, but
no bullet had been shot. I threw the
thing down into the mangy sink and turned to the now quiet door. The lock had
been turned by some unknown hand. I slowly grabbed and turned the knob,
allowing the door to swing open.

The police had gone.
The hotel room beyond the bathroom was empty and quiet. Slowly, I moved around the room, looking in
every corner for the cops I had heard moments before but could find no trace of
them. I looked back into the bathroom
and marveled at just how clean and perfect it had become. Seeing myself in the
mirror, I noticed that my wound had vanished and the bloody tee-shirt I was
wearing had been replaced with an expensive dress shirt. I walked back to the room and took a deep
breath. Shrugging at the sudden changes
to the rooms and to myself, I sat down on the edge of the cushy bed and
gingerly picked up the remote.

I sighed and took one long look around the room, ending
with me again looking into the glass of the television.

I aimed the remote and clicked.

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